The Champlain Canal

Troy, New York to Lock 4 of the Champlain Canal - 13 miles sailed, 5 locks

7 am. I was clobbered by the sting of a headache as I opened my eyes, ending my anasthetic sleep. Last night's sea of Carlsburg continued to ruminate in my gut and that final glass of tequila we poured on top of the beer now seemed like a bad move. I checked the New York Canal Corporation's website for notices on the lock situation. Nothing yet. We were going to be stuck here for another day.

I contemplated getting up to do some writing. But the warmth of the bed would not release me and I instantly fell back asleep.

8:30 am. My phone is buzzing. It's Ana. I clear my throat and try for an awake voice.

"Hello?" I croak.

"Hi. What are you doing? Why does your voice sound like that?" Ana says.

"Late night."

"Why aren't you guys on the water?"

"The locks aren't open."

"They sure are, they posted a notice at 7:30."

"Shit! I checked at 7 and there was nothing," I said as I leaped out of bed and threw on yesterday's clothes.

"You never sleep in."

"I made an exception for Curt's visit. Hey, I gotta go, will call you later."

"OK, bye. Good luck with the locks!"

After some rapid boat prep we pushed off the dock and headed upstream to the Federal Lock, first of the journey. I was hoping we could make the 10am opening for the start of the Champlain locks, which was four or five miles away, but we arrived at the Federal lock just as the doors were closing so there was no way that was going to be possible.

I gave the lads a briefing on lock protocol while we waited, and we waited a long time. When the ancient steel doors finally opened we proceeded into the lock, secured the boat, then waited patiently for the other five boats behind us to get into the lock. The lift went well, but the full process was painfully slow. On this trip we've learned lock staff are chosen specifically for their slow pace of walking, and candidates with leg deformities, missing limbs, or severe back injuries are especially sought after. The gentleman tending this lock had all limbs intact and seemed to walk without pain, but moved with a general hokey-pokiness, stopping to chit chat with the captains of all six boats in the lock. We were the first boat out but were soon passed in sequence by the three cabin cruiser power boats that had been in the lock with us. The first two passed gently but the third threw a giant wake that rocked SeaLight and rolled her from side to side. He then passed the other two boats and waked one of them so hard he nearly did a 360. Curt reckoned the boat was loaded with drugs.

We arrived to lock 1 of the Champlain canal shortly before 11, tied up to the concrete wall, then waited. The captain of a 42' Nordic Tug named Bobcat was out for a walk and passed by our boat.

"Morning!" I said. "How are you?"

"Old and ugly," he muttered, then kept walking. You hardly ever get an honest response to that question.

The four locks went fairly well, but they do lay a beating on boats. Each of the other five boats who locked with us all of the way through took some bruising - masts scraping along the concrete wall as the crew stuggle to straighten the boat being blown sideways, hulls grinding along the canal edges, cleats being strained, bows smashing into floating logs. As we approached lock 3 a giant tree blocked the path, but then began to slowly rotate, opening a small gap for us. I gunned it to make it past the tree, but then a heavy gust and current pushed us into the concrete wall as we passed. It felt like we had scraped the entire side off the boat and destroyed the solar panel, but a subsequent damage assessment revealed only a few bruises on the already beaten up aluminum gunnel guard rails. And the solar panel somehow survived unscathed.

By the time we exited the final lock it was nearly 6 pm so we tied up to the wall on the other side for the night, along with a Quebecer boat we'd met along the way. Magnus found a fishing rod on the boat so began throwing casts while Curt and I enjoyed revitalizing Carlsburgs which wiped away the stubborn lingering headaches. We were enjoying some fine tunes when Magnus, who had walked back to the lock to try his luck, called to us. His previous cast had been too aggressive and half the rod had separated and launched into the air along with the lure. Both had sunk to the bottom and become snagged on something. Curt deployed the dinghy and set out paddling a rescue mission while I finished up a call with Ana, giving her an update on the day's events, then had to cut it short when another boat, southbound, arrived and needed some help with their lines.

The rescue mission was a total bust and they returned with half a fishing rod and full embarrassment. The three of us went for a dinghy ride to see the nearby town then returned to SeaLight and spent half an hour cleaning up the mess of liquified caulking from the disastrous reattachment job I had attempted a couple of weeks before on the stern flooring panels.

Dinner was simple pesto pasta with a fantastic Magnus twist - layering in a bag of spinach on the nearly cooked pasta which gave it a nutritious green zing and paired perfectly with the pesto sauce and pleasant plonk drained from the five litre Cardbordeaux sack, which we had started calling the "Goon Bag" - an excellent hunk of Aussie slang Magnus had picked up from his flatmates in Edinburgh.

Our post dinner drinks and chatter was going so well, then we heard the blast of a vessel horn and popped out of the boat to see a giant barge had arrived and was looking for his parking spot. With headlamps and spotlights, the crews of the three boats flew into action and we squeaked between the mighty steel barge and the twisted tree branches that hung from the shore like witch fingers. We motored slowly through the channel and into the bay, navigating with the help of the spotlight and the chart, but otherwise blind in the darkness of the evening. We dropped anchor, set it, then retired to the cozy cabin where we finished off the night with a few more pumps from the goon bag and some beautiful music.